


Free Falling

by shaenie



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Impact Play, Kink Bingo 2013, Light Dom/sub, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-16
Updated: 2014-03-16
Packaged: 2018-01-15 23:03:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1322566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shaenie/pseuds/shaenie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He uses the time during the briefing to pull up everything he can find on correcting dangerous behavioral issues in the SHIELD database because he is pretty sure he remembers… And it’s there. It’s from almost fifty years ago, but it is still on the books.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Free Falling

**Author's Note:**

> For the Spanking/Paddling Square on my Kink Bingo card (amnesty), and with my deepest appreciation to sabinlagrande, for betaing not one, but _two_ Kink Bingo stories for me.

It is the sixth time, the _sixth_ time lately that Clint has thrown himself off of some high place without letting someone know about it first, and this time Phil had been sure it would be the last. Iron Man had scooped him up less than ten feet above the pavement, and even Phil could hear the fear in Tony’s voice when he’d cheerfully asked for a little more warning next time.

Clint had said something back, something blithe and unworried that Phil hadn’t caught over the sound of his own blood pounding in his ears in relief and the sharp, phantom pain of Loki’s spear plunging into his back. Then because there had been no other choice, he presses it all into the back of his mind and continues to help Steve coordinate the rest of the battle.

But that is it. That is all Phil can take.

He uses the time during the briefing to pull up everything he can find on correcting dangerous behavioral issues in the SHIELD database because he is pretty sure he remembers… And it’s there. It’s from almost fifty years ago, but it is still on the books.

Write-ups don’t work on Clint; they never have. Forced physical training doesn’t mean anything to him, and why should it? He can out-physical anyone they have that isn’t already superhuman, and he knows it. Training exercises are fun for him. And they can’t afford -- nor would Phil allow -- to pull out any of the really big guns, confinement to quarters, psychological profiling, bumps downward in clearance or pay grade. Most of those aren’t even an option anymore anyway, since Clint is an Avenger.

At the end of the briefing, he barks, “Barton, my office, ten minutes,” and turns without looking at Clint’s face to see what might be there. First he has to find something to use; Phil doesn’t exactly have anything sitting around his office.

Sitwell, fortunately, has a warped sense of humor. Either his sense of humor is on vacation today, or something about the way Phil looks makes him wary. He just hands it over without comment.

Phil is back in his office in seven minutes, and Clint isn’t there yet. Phil inhales deeply, slides it out of sight behind his desk, and then pulls off his tie, folding it neatly and tucking it into his jacket pocket. He takes the jacket off and hangs it on a hook behind his desk.

By the time he’s turning back from that, Clint is standing in the doorway, watching him curiously. “I thought that jacket stayed magically attached to your body until you left the building,” he says, smirking a little.

“Close the door,” Phil says quietly.

Clint steps inside and closes the door behind him. The humor has bled out of his face. “I already got it from everyone else,” he says wearily.

“Not this, you haven’t,” Phil says. “Stand in front of the desk and take down your pants.”

“Sir?” Clint asks in that tone that means he’s sure he didn’t hear something right, and is genuinely asking to have the information repeated.

“Stand in front of the desk and take down your pants,” Phil repeats.

Phil can see Clint puzzling this over even as he steps up close to the desk. He throws Phil a wide-eyed look, a look asking for answers, but Phil ignores it for the moment.

“Armor, too,” Phil adds, since Clint is still in his Avengers uniform.

Clint’s fingers unerringly find the buckles for the armor and he peels it away, leaving him bare chested, eyes fixed on Phil. Phil can see bruises at the tops of Clint’s ribs from where Iron Man had caught him which just makes him angrier. Clint sets the armor down on the mostly clear desk top, and then pauses, gaze still fixed on Phil.

“Pants down,” Phil says. “Don’t make me repeat myself again.”

Clint’s hands dip down to the zip of his pants and make short work of it. He pauses there, however, giving Phil a considering look. “I don’t know what you’re trying to do here, but I’m pretty sure this is against some kind of regulation.” He doesn’t sound worried or even amused; just puzzled.

“I can pull the pertinent regulations up for you, if you aren’t inclined to believe a superior officer who says that they exist,” Phil says. He dips behind the desk and brings the paddle out into sight. It has SHIELD emblazoned on it in bright red letters, but is otherwise a functional tool.

Clint’s brows rise. “You want me to take down my pants so you can hit me with that,” he says. It’s not a question.

“This is the sixth time in two months that you’ve failed to communicate with your team as it affects your safety,” Phil says. “I have done everything in my power to deter this behavior, as has every other member of the Avengers, and nothing works on you, Clint. This might not work either, but I’m not going to keep letting you put yourself in danger because I didn’t try every option available to me.”

“So, you’re telling me corporal punishment is within regulation?” Clint snaps.

“Under certain circumstances,” Phil allows. “Which criteria this situation meets. So _take down your pants and put your hands on the desk._ ”

Clint’s eyes flash with anger, but he shoves his pants, underwear and all, down past his thighs and lets them puddle on his boots. He puts his hands on the edge of the desk and just stands there looking at Phil.

Phil hesitates. He’d thought he’d been prepared to do this, but he doesn’t like the look on Clint’s face. There is anger there, yes, but there’s also a kind of resignation/recognition that Phil doesn’t like. He thinks he would have come to it before the situation had escalated, but Clint doesn’t give him the chance.

“You won’t be the first person to try to change me by beating the hell out of me,” he says, contempt dripping from every word. “You probably won’t be the last. Let’s get it over with.”

“Clint,” Phil sighs, and rounds the edge of the desk so he can wrap a hand around the back of Clint’s neck and shake him a little, barely even aware that the whole right side of Clint’s body is pressed up against Phil from chest to thigh. Clint’s eyes go a little wide when Phil tips his brow against Clint’s temple. “I don’t want to change who you are. I want to make you think about the danger you’re putting yourself in. I’m frustrated and I’m scared, and I hope that the next time you think about taking a fifty story dive you’ll think about this and change your mind.”

Clint draws back, just enough to be able to look Phil in the face.

“There are two things really off about this scenario,” he says seriously. “The first one is that you’re genuinely considering hitting me to make me behave.” Phil feels himself flush, but doesn’t look away. “The second one is actually more important, though, if we’re talking about your state of mind here, sir.”

“Are we talking about my state of mind?” Phil asks, and would like it to come out arch. Instead it comes a little unsteadily.

“It’s one of the things we’re talking about,” Clint says, still serious. “You didn’t have me lock the door, sir.” 

If Phil were the kind of man to smack himself on the forehead in response to his own idiocy, he would have done it. Since he isn’t, he just nods acknowledgement. If he hadn’t been so upset, it would have never happened. He doesn’t have to tell Clint that. As it is, Clint is still mostly naked and leaning forward over Phil’s desk. 

Phil goes and locks the door.

Clint hasn’t moved, and it feels awkward now to stand so close to him, but Phil moves back into Clint’s space anyway. He’s willing to concede that paddling Clint’s ass had been a poorly conceived plan. He’s not willing to concede the reasoning behind its conception, however. He isn’t sure what he’s going to do now that the whole thing has fallen apart, but he’s still got to do something.

Clint surprises him.

When _doesn’t_ Clint surprise him?

“Now if you want to use that thing on me because I have a great ass, and paddling it will probably be fun, that’s something I’m okay with.” He flashes Phil his usual scoundrel’s smile, and Phil can’t quite keep from quirking his lip, even though this is serious, damnit. “And if you want to do it as a kind of negative reinforcement thing, because I scared you, you can do that, too.” Clint’s voice is gentle. “Though I have to admit, sir, that I’ve been on the receiving end of several spankings since I hit my sexual stride, and I don’t know that I’ve ever had one that I thought was negatively reinforcing anything, strictly speaking. Still, if it’ll make you feel better, I’ll stand for it.”

Phil sighs. “I want you to stop,” he says wearily. “I want you to stop so I can stop feeling like I’m dying every time I watch you fall.”

In all, it’s easier to say than Phil has any right to expect. Clint, however, stiffens a little. Phil wants to pull back away, wants to believe he hasn’t just said the wrong thing, but it’s the truth, wrong or not.

“This has been a long time coming,” Clint says hoarsely. “So long that I didn’t think it was coming at all.”

Phil doesn’t say anything. He knows exactly what Clint means, and he isn’t willing to confirm or deny until he understands what Clint wants.

“Go ahead,” Clint says, in that same hoarse voice. “Have at me with it.”

“Clint,” Phil objects, and Clint turns to look at him full on.

“The only way I walk out of here _feeling_ punished, is if you back out now,” Clint says. “And I don’t think that’s the kind of punishment you’re looking for.”

Phil flexes his hand around the handle of the paddle. “I don’t think I can,” he says finally, but what he’s really thinking is that he doesn’t want the first thing that happens between them to hurt Clint.

Clint is right. It’s been a long time coming. But Phil… he had never managed to get to a place where he’d thought it would never come. He just hadn’t thought if would be this place.

“Look down,” Clint says. Phil does, mostly without thought, and Clint pulls his hips back a little. Clint’s cock is hard and flushed. “Come on,” Clint says. “Give me what you’ve got, Phil. This is something…” He pauses for a long time. “If I can have this, if I can have _you_ , that’s something I’ll think about before I take a fifty story dive.” He looks up and meets Phil’s gaze; his eyes are sharp and dark at once, but for long seconds, he says nothing, as though waiting. “Now you tell me I can have you, sir,” he says, low and unsteady.

“You don’t have to let me do this to have me,” Phil says. 

“But it will make you feel better,” Clint says. “You wouldn’t have come out with it if it wouldn’t have. You still want to tan my ass for scaring you, and I’m telling you that you can do that, as long as that’s not all you want.”

“That’s never been what I wanted,” Phil says. “I don’t have to have this.”

“But now I want it,” Clint says without any apparent embarrassment. “Now that I’m leaning over your desk with my pants around my ankles, now that I see you looking at me like that. I told you. This, like this, has never been the kind of thing that I felt negative about. If you were angry, sir… Phil,” he murmurs gently. “If you were angry, Phil, it would be different. What you want is a little payback, and that’s… that’s just hot.”

Phil blinks, but his hand is curled so tightly around the handle of the paddle now that his knuckles are white.

“When you’re done,” Clint says slowly, still looking at Phil. “Once you get it out of your system, I would love to see you suck my cock.”

Something cracks in the middle of Phil’s head. He’s been at least half hard since Clint stripped off the armor, but the idea of… If he’s going to be honest with himself, the idea of paddling Clint’s ass until it’s cherry red and then going to his knees afterward is enough to kindle his lust in a way that hasn’t happened in so long Phil can’t even really remember the last time, or if anything ever has, like this.

He circles around behind Clint, and because he can, because this is suddenly sex, he scratches his fingers through the Clint’s hair in the back, and watches it make Clint shiver.

“You fell almost fifteen stories today,” Phil says.

Clint nods. His fingertips are pressing into the wood of Phil’s desk, turning them white.

“I’m rounding up,” Phil says.

“Fair enough,” Clint says roughly.

Phil steps back and his first swing is slow and careful, just enough to see how the paddle moves through the air and how much damage it does when it hits Clint. It’s less than a blow and more than a tap. Clint breathes out from between his teeth, and says harshly, “I can take about three times that hard for fifteen. Less if it’s more.”

Phil hears him, but he’s mostly watching Clint’s cock jerk between his thighs. He hears himself say, “You look like porn, Clint,” in a weirdly reverent voice, and Clint huffs out a laugh.

“You look like porn without ever taking off your suit,” Clint says. “I should have pissed you off years ago.”

“How would you know how hard you could take it for fifteen?” Phil asks, something a little sharp twisting at the base of his brain.

Clint shrugs one shoulder, and does not quite look at Phil, but he answers. “I told you, I’ve done this before. It’s a thing for me.”

Phil’s cock aches, trapped inside his trousers, but he’ll ask for details later.

Phil swings again, going by Clint’s gauge, and Clint rocks forward onto his toes, groaning softly, his head tipping back, the big tendons on his neck standing out. Phil feels like he’s caught in the deep well of a sexual fantasy that he had never had. He swings again, and watches the broad line of red bloom across both cheeks of Clint’s ass. Clint chokes out a little noise, and the muscles of his back ripple while his biceps bunch as he presses his hands to the desk.

He swings again, and happens to be looking in the right direction to see Clint flush, face ruddy, skin red all the way down to his nipples. There’s something about that blush that gets to Phil in a deeply visceral way, and it takes him several long seconds to figure out why.

He’s never seen Clint blush.

He looks at the wide red swathe of skin across Clint’s ass, and changes the angle of the paddle in his hand along with the direction of the swing. It catches Clint at the bottom curve of his ass and Clint lets out a hoarse sound and goes to his toes again. Phil does it again just to watch the pink patch go a darker red, and then he loses the theme.

It isn’t that he stops watching Clint or that he stops wanting to see everything or that he doesn’t want to know how Clint responds to every blow. He does, and he is still watching, but his arm feels loose and easy now, and Clint is clenched from chest to calves, but really it’s the sounds that Clint makes, the way they get harsher and then louder and they all sound a little bit like pleasure sounds, but it isn’t until Clint moans, open-mouthed and a little higher than Phil would have expected, that it all crashes down on Phil, and he can’t take it.

He winds up with five quick blows, listening to Clint gasp out moans and watching his body jerk fiercely with each blow, seeing his flushed faced and beads of sweat at his hairline, checking and finding his cock still hard and flushed every time, and at the last blow, not just hard, but slick with enough precome, Phil can see it beading at the slit of his cock. Phil had had no idea that it would encompass him the way it has. He’s never wanted to spank anyone in a sexual sense, and maybe he never would have, except for Clint, except for the way he twists and bunches and gasps, and it feels like Phil is _dragging_ it all out of him. It’s a powerful feeling, and unexpectedly physically demanding. He feels sweat at his hairline too, and he’s damp under his arms. His face is hot and his cock is trapped firmly in his pants, but not so firmly that he doesn’t know that he’s making a damp spot in his underwear, and the whole thing is outside his experience.

He ends it fast because every blow makes him want to press his whole body up against Clint and just devour him, every sound, every bunched muscle, every time Clint goes to his toes, a pain reaction that Phil should not find alluring, but which he _does_ , he _loves_ it, and he isn’t sure he can take any more without dragging out his cock and shoving it against the bright red skin of Clint’s ass.

He throws the paddle onto the couch, and he has every intention of going to his knees for Clint immediately, but instead finds himself cupping the muscular cheeks of Clint’s ass in both hands. Clint lets out a hoarse groan, and Phil can feel himself breathing heavily against the back of Clint’s neck. He tightens his grip, and Clint pushes back into his hands, still making that low, hoarse groan. Clint’s skin is baking hot; Phil wants to touch it with every part of his body.

“Turn,” Phil whispers. “Turn, Clint,” and Clint does. He looks at Phil with dark eyes, dazed this time. He’s still flushed and his mouth is red, like he’d bitten at his lips. His eyes widen when Phil sinks to his knees, like he’d never really believed it, or maybe like he hadn’t expected it so soon.

Phil doesn’t take his hands off Clint’s overheated skin, but tips forward to take Clint’s cock -- salty-sour with precome, heavy against his tongue -- into his mouth. It’s been awhile for him, and without the use of his hands, he’s clumsier, but he’s not willing to let go. Any time he squeezes Clint’s ass, Clint’s hips jerk, pushing his cock deeper into Phil’s mouth, and Clint’s moans are breathless, sounding almost shocked.

If Phil had had any doubt about the way that Clint had responded to the paddling, they are allayed almost immediately. Phil hasn’t even been on his knees for two minutes when Clint’s thighs start to shudder, and he whispers, “Phil, I’m, I can’t stop.” Phil digs his nails into both cheeks of Clint’s ass and Clint lets out a hard, sharp cry, and then is moaning as he comes across Phil’s tongue in bursts.

Phil pulls off reluctantly, and then even more reluctantly lets go of Clint’s ass. He feels dazed and detached and so turned on he doesn’t even think about it when his hands fumble at his belt, jerking his pants open and down as far as he can so he can wrap his fist around his own cock.

He is barely aware of Clint settling to his knees beside him, tugging at his hand until Phil’s hand slips free. Phil makes a low, desperate sound, and Clint grunts out a little growl of lust. “Don’t do that,” he says, holding both of Phil’s wrists now. “I’ve been dying to touch your cock since they issued me to you like your own personal piece of specialized equipment.”

Phil’s cock jerks and he hitches out a little sound, lust twisting firmly at his balls.

Clint’s smile is fairly soft, crinkling around his eyes. “Like that idea, do you?” he asked. “We can work with that. But for right now, just hold off for a minute, Phil. Just till I can touch you.”

“Why wait?” Phil says hoarsely, hips arching up helplessly.

Clint lets go of his hands and starts unbuttoning Phil’s shirt. Phil blinks down at Clint’s fingers, a little boggled. Clint murmurs, “You’re going to be pissed if it’s covered in come, later.”

For some reason that shoots another twisting jolt of need through Phil, and he forces his hands back behind him, resting on the floor so he’s bent back on his knees.

“Yeah,” Clint murmurs, and gets the last button of Phil’s shirt. He slides the sides down over the arch of Phil’s ribs, and then dips down to lick just once at each of Phil’s nipples. Phil grates out a sound that is either encouraging or impatient, he can’t tell, and then Clint has his big, calloused hand wrapped around the shaft of Phil’s cock and Phil’s back arches so hard at the first stroke that he doesn’t think there’s going to be another.

Clint’s face is soft and hungry at the same time, his eyes sharp. “Let me see,” he says, and runs his rough hand up the length of Phil’s cock again until his fist is resting just under the head. “Rock up into it.” His voice is a rough purr. “I want to see you do it.”

Phil does, the first time not even on purpose, but just because of the way Clint sounds, and then harder, not even trying to pretend it isn’t because Clint wants it. Clint’s eyes dart from Phil’s face to his cock, and Phil glances down and is unprepared for the electric sizzle of watching his cock jerk upward through Clint’s fist. He has to look away, and even then he can’t get the image out of his mind. He isn’t going to last, and he’s torn between desperation and disappointment. He wants to come, needs it, but wishes he could take his time with Clint’s amazing hand.

Phil’s thighs start to jerk and tremble, and he can feel his cock jerking in Clint’s fist. There is a line of fire up his spine, and he hears himself make a sound that is not quite a whine, but is too needy to be a groan. “Come on, Phil,” Clint whispers. “Just let go.”

Phil arches up into Clint’s hard, hot hand twice more, his whole body tensing and shuddering, and then he’s coming harder than he can _ever_ remember coming, come streaking down from his chest to his navel, hips stuttering, as if to work the last few drops free.

Clint doesn’t let go of his cock, but he bends right over Phil, no hesitation, and licks hotly across his chest, he’s, Christ, he’s detail oriented, he gets every drop, he licks around his own fingers and slips the head of Phil’s cock into his mouth just long enough to make sure there’s nothing left to get, detail oriented, and Phil is going to make sure that gets into his performance evaluation as soon as possible.

Phil is panting and his cock has softened, but he’s still so turned on he can hardly think. He reaches up and grasps at Clint’s shoulder, and Clint pulls him upward so they’re both mostly upright on their knees, their faces very close. Clint is staring at him, eyes wide and dark, gaze catching on Phil’s mouth every few seconds until Phil realizes that Clint isn’t going to lean in and kiss him. That he’s not going to go any further than this, which could still be written off as a one shot deal that happened just this once because Phil’s temper got the better of him.

“Screw that,” Phil says hoarsely, and leans into Clint hard enough that Clint has to catch him and brace him against his gorgeous naked chest. Phil slides a hand around the back of Clint’s head and drags him in, and he feels the tension spill out of Clint as Phil slides his tongue into his mouth. Clint responds like he’s been waiting forever, and the kiss is harsh and a little brutal, leaves them both breathless and grasping at each others skin.

Phil doesn’t even know how long they kiss like that; only that his lips feel bruised and well used and his cock is starting to feel a little heavy again between his thighs.

“I always knew you were ripped under those suits,” Clint murmurs and nuzzles at Phil’s jaw.

“Come home with me,” Phil blurts inelegantly. 

Clint pulls back to stare at him.

“I want to fuck you while your ass is still cherry red,” Phil says, almost like an admission. “I want this.” He tugs Clint a little, pulling him into Phil’s space. “I want…”

Clint is grinning, though, and tips his head to rest his brow against Phil’s. His hands are flexing against Phil’s skin. But he just says, “Yes, sir.”


End file.
